


Where We've Been Before

by helens78



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Clubbing, First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-14
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bar-hopping thing isn't Rodney's "scene", but a random encounter with a stranger still sounds pretty good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We've Been Before

Rodney can't decide whether this is baffling or appalling. There are a lot of guys here, yeah, and most of them are attractive in a way that makes it clear they work at it, but... why the hell does Eric know about a place like this? It's not like he's any less of a geek than Rodney. Apparently he just gets out more.

Eric squeezes Rodney's elbow and points over at the bar. "You look like you need a drink," he shouts over the music. "I'm meeting somebody--you'll be fine until I get back, right?"

"No," Rodney says, but Eric pretends he doesn't hear it, the bastard. He waves to someone in the crowd, and Rodney shuffles off to the bar, alone. _Pathetic._

The bar at least has Heineken, which is a relief, and Rodney picks at the label until the upper half of it's gone. It's so loud in here, and the lights are both low and pulsating, which is downright annoying. All anyone can see--anyone who's not hanging out at the bar and trying to pretend he's not at a fucking sex club, anyway--is the press of bodies, most of them under 30 and half-naked. It smells like a locker room, only with the added sourness of spunk, and Rodney really doesn't want to think about the fact that every surface in this place has probably had come on it at one time or another.

"Another?" someone asks, and Rodney turns his head to look. It's another guy, thankfully not half-naked and not half Rodney's age. When Rodney doesn't answer right away, the guy taps Rodney's beer bottle and says, a little louder this time, "Want another beer?"

"I was actually just thinking about leaving," Rodney yells back, and it doesn't hit him until he sees the disappointed look on the guy's face: that was a come-on. It was the _classic_ come-on. Rodney almost drops the bottle, he's so startled. "I mean, I don't have to," he says, "I just didn't, I was with a friend and he ditched me, so I--"

The other guy nods and waves at the bartender, and soon enough Rodney's got a second beer in his hand and has mercifully stopped babbling. It turns out the guy's name is John, which is such a normal name Rodney wonders if it's his real one. "This isn't really my thing, either," John says, and when the jostle of bodies wedges him right up against Rodney's side, neither one of them moves. "I got a friend visiting from out of town, and this is what he likes to do on weekends."

"It's not a weekend," Rodney points out.

"Try telling him that."

Rodney laughs. He polishes off the rest of his beer and looks up at John again. John's hot and he seems interested and he's put up with Rodney's fumbling attempts at small talk, which is encouraging enough to make Rodney think _what the hell_.

"So does your friend know how to get back to your place on his own?" he asks.

"He can manage," John says. "How about yours?"

"Oh, he doesn't live with me," Rodney says, which wasn't what John was asking, of course, and he winces and shakes his head. "I mean, he'll figure it out when we're gone." John's eyebrows twitch up toward his hairline, and then he grins and Rodney forgets all about apologizing for making assumptions.

"Okay," John says. "So your place, then."

Rodney only feels a little guilty about stranding Eric at the club. If Eric really needs him, he'll call, but he knows how to call a cab the same as anybody. He takes the fastest route he knows back to his place, watching John out the corner of his eye, trying to think of something to say.

"My ears are still ringing," he says. John just chuckles, but it doesn't feel like he's laughing _at_ Rodney, thank God. "How are yours?" _Pointy,_ he realizes after he asks, but he doesn't say that out loud. He's been babbling enough.

"I'm fine," John says, and just like that, like he does it all the time, he slides a hand onto Rodney's thigh. Rodney jerks, but he doesn't lose control of the car. He speeds up a little, though, and by the time he pulls into his driveway he's a little out of breath. John snaps his seatbelt off and leans in, and Rodney tastes beer on his mouth while he struggles with his own seatbelt and fumbles for the door--he's trying to do everything at once, and failing miserably. When John pulls back, Rodney finally gets his seatbelt undone and points at the house. "So I--that's it," he says. "You sure you wanna go in?"

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"God, no!" Rodney blurts out, reaching over to John's thigh, wishing it were as smooth a move as John's was. It doesn't seem to matter, though; John groans, and Rodney squeezes just a little. "Okay," he says softly. "Come on."

It's dark enough John won't see the clutter, the physics books piled on every available surface, the notebooks with scribbled thoughts here and there. Rodney guides them back to the bedroom, and before he can get a light on, John pushes him up against the hallway wall and kisses him again. This time Rodney can actually _focus_ on it, do something with his hands besides fumbling for the door locks, and he ends up grabbing John's ass and pulling him forward, grinding up against him. John groans again and grinds back, and Rodney pulls away, gasping. "I have a perfectly good bed," he says.

"And we're not in it because...?"

"Because you're molesting me against the wall here," Rodney says, and he can see the outline of John's face in the dim light, the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners. "Come _on_."

This time he grabs John by the shirt and pulls him along; he pushes John onto the bed and kicks off his shoes before following. John stretches out on his back, and Rodney remembers the Dawkins book a little too late. "Ow! Shit," John yelps. "You got a lamp or something? Something just stabbed me in the spine."

"Sorry. Hardcover." Rodney flicks the bedside lamp on and climbs over John, collecting the books and papers and dropping them in a pile at the side of the bed. "Better?"

"Much. C'mere." This time it's Rodney's shirt getting grabbed and pulled on and stretched as John drags him down, on top of him, awkward at first until John spreads his legs and lets Rodney settle between them. Rodney wraps his hands around John's shoulders and shoves his tongue into John's mouth, exploring--it's easier to do that when he's on top, when he's not immobile against a wall and trying to figure out which way is up. John slips a hand down Rodney's jeans and gives his ass a nice squeeze, which makes Rodney rock his hips forward and groan in frustration when it doesn't help--what he needs is bare skin, actually getting to _feel_ those thighs instead of just rubbing against layers of denim, and luckily for him, John gets that and starts tugging at his shirt.

"Buttons," Rodney pants, pushing up, kneeling.

"I could feel that," John says. He half-sits, just enough to get his t-shirt off. He's really hairy, obviously doesn't believe in waxing and there's no way a razor would do much for all that, but Rodney figures it balances out, seeing as John's also pretty damn toned. Rodney makes a half-sincere promise to work out more often, not that it would take much, and gets his shirt off, then figures he's halfway done, might as well chuck the jeans and boxers, too. John's eyebrows go up again, but he's grinning, and he drops his pants by the side of the bed, lying back down when he's naked.

He's hairy all over, but his dick's got this nice attractive lean to it, over to the left, and Rodney scoots down the bed so he can get it in his mouth. John recognizes where he's going pretty quick and shoves a few pillows behind him, sitting up, spreading his legs, and Rodney takes a deep breath. "Wow," he says; one syllable, three letters, but it's really all that's coming to mind.

"Huh?" John frowns at him. "What?"

"No, just--shut up and let me blow you," Rodney tells him, and before John can interrupt him, he's doing just that, one hand wrapped around the base of John's cock, the other cupping John's balls, and his mouth over the head and sinking lower, lower, while John reaches down with both hands and drags Rodney's head down even more. John's loud while Rodney sucks him off, really into it, and it's just hot in a way Rodney wasn't expecting tonight--random guy in a bar, somebody who's into _him_, somebody who smells fantastic and tastes even better and now all Rodney wants is to feel John coming down his throat.

"Hey--oh, fuck, that's--no, no, stop, stop," John pants, trying to push Rodney back, but by then it's too late; Rodney rubs his tongue hard against the underside of John's dick, and John bites off a curse and comes, moaning as Rodney keeps working his tongue against that spot until he's got the last drop.

He sits up and swallows; John's collapsed against the pillows, looking sheepish. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Rodney says. A horrible thought occurs to him, then--maybe John's one of those guys who thinks sex is over as soon as he's had an orgasm, maybe that's why he's apologizing--and he tries not to look as disappointed as he feels. "Do you... does that mean you need to go now?"

John snorts and grabs Rodney again, pushing him down on his back before kissing him hard, licking deep into Rodney's mouth like he wants to taste himself on Rodney's tongue.

"I guess not," Rodney says, much later, with John's hand wrapped around his cock and John's mouth working its way down over Rodney's chest.

It's one of the strangest encounters Rodney's ever had, partly because it's so successful--he can't remember the last time he went home with a guy from a bar and ended up fucking his brains out all night--and partly because it's so singleminded; there's no small talk, nothing about what they do or where they live or even their last names. He doesn't know John's birthdate, where he went to school, which celebrities he thinks about when he's jerking off, but he does know that once he's had a hot shower, John wants to rim him, and he's so good at it Rodney's tempted to chain him to the bed and never, ever let him go.

He does go, of course. In the morning he calls a cab and spends the time between the phone call and the cab's arrival kissing Rodney, jerking him off slowly on the sofa. Rodney comes with a gasp when the cab honks for the third time, and John wipes his wrist off on his jeans. Rodney watches from the window as John trots off, and there's a fleeting sense of disappointment as he realizes there's no way he'll ever see John again.

He brushes it off as he gets his place cleaned up. It was a great night, which is more than he was expecting.

* * *

The guy in the chair is five--maybe it's six--years older, and his hair's gone crazy since then, but Rodney's hair is nothing to write home about, either, since some of it's not there anymore. And right now, more important than the fact that this guy once shoved his tongue up Rodney's ass and gave him the single most mindblowing night of his life is the fact that the chair's _on and lit up_, and Rodney takes a deep breath before telling John--Jesus, his name really _is_ John, it says so right on his jumpsuit--"Major, think about where we are in the solar system."

Everything lights up all around them, and Rodney feels faint. He doesn't ask _where have you been?_ or _do you even remember me?_ or anything stupid like that; if John had wanted more than a random encounter in a club, he'd have said something at the time.

But it does figure, doesn't it? The best sex Rodney's had in his life, and it's with a guy who turns out to be in the fucking U.S. Air Force, and oh, yes, he's got the strongest incidence of the Ancient gene Rodney's ever seen.

"It's a good thing I don't believe in God, or I'd have to believe he hates me," Rodney mutters. Dr. Weir looks up at him with an eyebrow raised, and Rodney shakes his head. "Nothing. Nothing. How are we going to talk General O'Neill into letting us have Major Sheppard?"

"I'm sure we'll figure something out."

"We'd better. I need him."

"What?"

"I said we need him. For the gene," Rodney snaps. "Can we focus here?"

"Yes," Dr. Weir agrees. "I think that's a good idea."

_-end-_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Of All the Gin Joints in All the World (Rubato Encore Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/87703) by [MelayneSeahawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk)




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